


October Thirty-First

by pepsicola



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, being a delinquent, garden of betrayal, partners in crime yknow, spooky season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-03 23:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21188018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepsicola/pseuds/pepsicola
Summary: Butters wants to go trick-or-treating, but his friends don’t feel the same. Eric hates seeing Butters upset, so he decides to take matters into his own hands.





	October Thirty-First

Eric thought that by the time he and his friends reached senior year, they’d _ totally _be over trick-or-treating. And they were. Most of them, at least.

When Butters had asked their friends what the plan was for Halloween in six days, they’d all shrugged.

“Are you gonna dress up?” Butters asked the table. They were at lunch, and even though Halloween was so close by, no one had brought it up that whole week.

Stan said, “I mean, probably. But I’m not going trick-or-treating.”

Kyle was distracted by the kisses Heidi was peppering his face with. He managed to agree, “Uh, yeah, me too,” before connecting his mouth with Heidi’s.

Butters looked at Kenny. Kenny winced and said, “Yeah… I don’t feel like going trick-or-treating. I got so many dirty looks last year. Don’t you remember that one dick who had the audacity to tell us we were too old to knock on people’s doors and ask for candy?”

Eric remembered very clearly what the old guy who owned the Garden of Betrayal said to them. Eric also remembered wanting to return to the man’s house to TP it, or maybe set it on fire, but his friends held him back. One of Eric’s biggest regrets was knowing that the guy had gotten away with his snide remark.

“Why don’t we just throw a Halloween party instead?” Clyde suggested.

Bebe, from under his arm, nodded in agreement. “We totally should! And instead of inviting people, we could let the talk do the job, you know?”

Eric snorted. “The only person whose house could fit the whole school—because you know a fuck ton of people will show up—is Token’s.”

Token turned away from talking with Nichole to set everyone with individual glares. “No one is throwing a party at my house,” he stated.

“We could do it at mine,” Clyde said.

Eric rolled his eyes at his stepbrother. “You really think Mom and Dad will allow that?”

Clyde waved away Eric’s remark. “Aww, c’mon, Eric. Mom’s told me how she used to be a party girl, and Dad’s chill. They’ll be _ fine _with it. Since when did you start caring about what Mom and Dad allow?”

Eric rolled his eyes again. “Shut up, Clyde.”

He wished he could say he hated Clyde’s idea of a party, but honestly, he kind of liked it. He’d never been to a Halloween party because he and his friends would usually go trick-or-treating, but it seemed this year would be different. Too bad too, because Eric still enjoyed trick-or-treating. He didn’t care if he’d be graduating this year. He’d always be up for free candy.

Butters said, “But we usually go trick-or-treatin’ on Halloween. Doncha want candy?”

Craig said, “We can just buy candy when it goes on sale once Halloween’s over.”

Butters pouted. He turned to Eric and buried his face in his shoulder. Eric tightly held Butters to him. He felt Butters sink into the embrace. Normally, they weren’t so conspicuous with their relationship. Eric thought it was ironic how he considered holding Butters in public was conspicuous. They’d kept their relationship secret for so long that the both of them considered _ hugs _scandalous.

“I wanna go trick-or-treatin’,” Butters whispered to Eric.

Quietly, Eric replied, “The party’s gonna be fun, B-Butts. We go trick-or-treating every year.”

Butters huffed. “But it’s our last year of high school. It’s our last year with little to no adult responsibilities. That probably won’t happen next year. Outta all people, I’da thought you’d be on _ my _side.”

“I _ am _on your side, stupid, but I’m just saying that you should make the most of this,” Eric defended. “I mean, you were hyped to go to Bebe’s party at the end of junior year. What’s the difference with this?”

He felt Butters tense up at the mention of Bebe’s party. Butters had come to Eric crying after getting sodas. Butters had yet to Eric the truth about what had happened that night. Eric didn’t want to bring it up. He hated seeing Butters cry, and he was worried that if he asked, Butters would burst into tears again.

Butters soon melted back into Eric and responded, “Because this is Halloween.” He nuzzled his nose against Eric’s neck. “What’re you gonna be, anyway?”

Eric shrugged. “I kinda just wanna wear a mask.”

“I don’t really feel like dressin’ up either. ‘Specially now that we’re not goin’ trick-or-treatin’,” Butters grumbled.

From across the table, Kenny joked, “I can hear your griping from all the way over here, Leo.”

Eric felt Butters crack a grin. “Hush up, Kenny,” Butters commanded playfully.

Kenny grinned back.

Eric unraveled an arm from Butters so he could continue eating his lunch. Around a bite of stiff cafeteria pizza, he asked, “Do you think you could help me spray paint a hockey mask?”

Butters said, “Course I can.”

“Cool.”

Once school was over, Eric drove straight to Butters’ house. Eric waited in the still-running car as Butters went into the garage. He dropped his spray cans and other miscellaneous art supplies into his backpack. When he had everything he needed, Butters cast a look over his shoulder at the door that led into the house before closing the garage and hurrying to the passenger seat of Eric’s Mustang.

At Eric’s house, the two sat on the deck of the backyard. Eric listened to the hiss of the can as Butters sprayed the mask down. It was already beginning to look grimy with wear and time, just the way it was in the movie. As Butters fixed up the mask, and as Eric watched, he said, “Some girl during fifth period asked me if I’m having a party on Halloween.”

Butters looked up at Eric. His eyes were wide. “Already? We just started talkin’ about it at lunch.”

Eric shrugged and said, “Talk is fast. Bebe was right.”

Butters turned back to the mask, keeping his lips sealed. Eric knew that Butters wasn’t silent because he was concentrating. He was still upset that they were going to a party instead of trick-or-treating. So Eric said, “It’s not gonna be that bad.”

Butters shook the can and spritzed the mask. “What’re you talkin’ about?” he asked innocently.

Eric heaved a sigh. Butters knew what he was talking about. He could hear it in his voice. “The Halloween party,” he clarified.

Butters said, “Oh, I don’t doubt it’ll be bad. It’ll probably be tons of fun. What party isn’t?”

Eric dragged a hand down his face. Butters was intentionally being difficult. “It’s only one year we aren’t going trick-or-treating. It’s not a big deal,” he said.

Butters stilled. For a second, Eric expected him to start yelling. Butters didn’t. Instead, he stood up stiffly, went to his backpack on the wooden picnic table, and grabbed a paint brush and a bottle of red paint. He stood in front of Eric to deposit the stuff in his lap. Eric was met with Butters’ grim expression when he looked up.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Eric asked, holding the paint bottle in one hand and the brush in the other.

The corners of Butters’ mouth turned down. He flourished a hand to the hockey mask in front of Eric. “All that’s left are the red triangles. You do ‘em.”

Eric was at a loss for words. His eyes followed Butters as he walked back to the table to sit there. Butters crossed his arms.

Eric gaped. “Are you seriously mad at me? I wasn’t the one who came up with the idea to have a Halloween party! I wanted to go trick-or-treating too!”

Butters’ face puckered like he’d smelled something foul in the air. “I’m not mad at you. I just want you to paint your own mask. I did all the hard parts for you.”

Eric fought the strong urge to roll his eyes. “Fine,” he snapped.

He turned back to the mask in front of him. He held the paint brush correctly and popped off the cap of the bottle. He stopped there.

He scowled to himself. It was going to wound his pride to have to turn back to Butters and ask if he had anything he could dollop the paint on.

Or he could go into the house and get a napkin.

Self-satisfied with his genius idea, Eric nodded to himself. He went into the kitchen and grabbed a napkin and squeezed paint onto it. It was too much for three tiny geometric shapes, but he couldn’t care less.

Outside once again and sitting on the deck, Eric dipped the paint brush into the red blob. He put the brush to the left cheek of the mask and started painting a thin red outline for the first triangle.

Eric firmly believed that being in a relationship made him weak, so after not having spoken to Butters for _ five fucking minutes, _ the words _ I’m sorry _were on the tip of his tongue, threatening to leap past his lips.

By the time Eric was finished with the triangle on the right side, the guilt had overtaken him. He and Butters had had their little bursts of arguments for as long as they’d known each other. The arguments always ended abruptly, and the both of them would be too proud to apologize right away. They would try to go without talking to each other for as long as they could. But then one of them said something that had nothing to do with the argument prior, something like, _ “What do you want for dinner,” _ and the other would reply, _ “How about McDonald’s,” _ and that was it. They had made up. Eric rarely needed to apologize to Butters, and growing up, that was one of his favorite things about him. Apologizing was such a scalding burn to the ego.

So it was almost a relief when he heard the wooden boards of the deck creak as Butters knelt behind him. Eric pretended he was unaware of Butters’ presence. He started on the red lines above the eye holes of the mask, but his mind was on Butters. He wasn’t touching him. He was staying still behind Eric. Eric told himself he wasn’t desperate enough to turn around and ask Butters what he wanted.

Eric almost jumped up in delight when Butters slid his fingers through Eric’s hair at the nape of his neck. He managed to control himself.

Slowly, Butters’ hand moved up higher until he reached the top of Eric’s head. There, his fingers curled in, taking hold of Eric’s hair and tugging lightly. Heat flared from Eric’s skin. Something primal and clawing unfurled in the pit of his stomach. Then Butters’ grip loosened and he settled for running his fingers through Eric’s hair.

It was distracting. Eric _ loved _it when Butters played with his hair, and to make matters worse, it turned him on when Butters pulled his hair. Butters was doing both at once, and Eric couldn’t concentrate. Butters used Eric’s hair to tilt his head back. Eric stared up at Butters. Butters’ mouth was set in a smile he was trying to hide.

Playfully, Eric chuckled, “Bro, stop, I’m trying to focus.”

Butters’ face split into a full grin. “So? When’s that ever mattered to you?”

Eric laughed. “Shut up,” he said.

Butters curled locks of Eric’s hair around his fingers. “You’ve got nice hair,” he mused, petting Eric from the top of his head to the base of his neck.

Butters’ touch sent thrumming electricity down Eric’s spine.

“I know,” he replied.

There was a significant rasp in his voice, and Butters caught it. Eric could tell by the way his hand hesitated. But he pretended he didn’t hear it, and continued messing with Eric’s hair, up to the point where Eric was practically drooling. The thought made him smirk. He so easily made Butters drool. Eric loved that eyes-rolled-to-the-back-of-his-head, mouth-dropped-open expression on Butters’ face that usually came along with it. He also loved what _ caused _Butters to make that face in the first place.

Butters began kissing Eric down the length of his neck—from behind his ear to the curve of his shoulder. Eric grinned when he felt the swipe of Butters’ tongue and the graze of his teeth. Eric’s hands had been propping himself up on the cold wood of the deck, but his left moved up Butters’ thigh and around to his back.

Butters stopped, pulling away. Mixed with suspicion in his eyes was a mischievous glint. “What’re you doin’?” he asked, drawing out the question.

Eric grinned stupidly. He decided to play it off in a joking manner. He looked Butters up and down as he ran his lip through his teeth. “Trying to get in them _ jeans, _ boy, whatchu doing?”

Butters doubled over. His grip around Eric’s fingers was weak from laughter. Eric had never been simultaneously so desperate to cringe at himself and so proud for making Butters laugh up to the point that he was wheezing.

Butters laughed, “Er—oh God—please. Never do that again.”

Eric’s jaw fell in mock offense. He faced his hands up to the cloudy sky. “What do you mean, ‘Never do that again’? Was I not seductive enough?” He did the move again. Halfway through, Butters shoved him over so he wouldn’t have to sit through it all over.

Butters had his face on Eric’s stomach, muffling his laughter. “You’re the worst,” he said as his laughter settled.

Now, Eric was overwhelmed with nothing but pride. He grinned, rubbing Butters’ back. “Tell me something I don’t know, B-Butts.”

Butters sat up. Eric saw the same grin he had on his mouth on Butters. He wiped his eyes and sniffled. “All this laughter’s made me hungry,” he said.

“Me too,” Eric agreed. “I’m kinda for burgers, you know? We could go to Be—”

Butters cut him off with a kiss. When he pulled back, there was nothing but fondness gracing his features. He said, “Bennigan’s sounds perfect.”

Eric feigned shock. “Hey, that’s what I was gonna say!”

Butters giggled and rolled his eyes. As he stood, he shoved Eric’s head. “Let’s go, you buffoon. I can’t wait another minute.”

By the time Eric was on his feet with the hockey mask in hand, Butters was already inside the house and exiting the kitchen. Eric hurried after him, leaving the mask on the dining table so he could free his hand to intertwine Butters’ fingers with his.

| | |

On Halloween right after school, Eric, Butters, Bebe and Clyde drove home in Eric’s Mustang to finalize the minuscule unfinished details of the party.

Like Clyde predicted, Liane and Roger had been fine with the party since they would be going to a Halloween party of their own. Their only rules were no drugs, no sex, no hangovers. Eric’s mom had always been lax about sex, so he was surprised when she added it to Roger’s short list, though he assumed it was a general rule that applied more to the partygoers and not so much him and Clyde.

Bebe, Clyde, Eric and Butters crowded around the kitchen table, reading the note Liane left in the center of it. _ Boys, I understand you’re teenagers, and this is a teenage party. Because I remember what that was like, Roger and I decided to let you have _ _ one _ _ bottle of rum (Bacardi) for the party, as well as the four packs of beer in the fridge. The Bacardi is in the bottom cupboard next to the fridge. The liquor cabinet is still locked, and the only key is with me so you can’t get to it. Remember the rules: no drugs, no hangovers tomorrow morning, no sex. Roger and I love you both very much and hope to come home to only slightly buzzed boys. See you tomorrow after school, because the compromise was you’re still going to school after today, drunk or not. _

Bebe quirked a smile. “Hey, Cartman. Your mom’s not a regular mom. She’s a cool mom,” she said with a wink.

Unlike Clyde who laughed aloud, Eric groaned and facepalmed. “I know where that line is from, and I’ve never seen the movie,” he said.

Butters furrowed his eyebrows at Eric. “Whaddya mean? We watched—”

Over Butters, Eric spoke loudly, “B-Butts, can you get the beers from the fridge please?”

Butters looked to Eric and stuck his bottom lip out in a pout that Eric couldn’t resist kissing. It made Butters instantly brighten and smile. He spun on his heel and pulled open the fridge.

Eric avoided Bebe and Clyde’s eyes as he busied himself with getting out the snacks. He could feel them trading a sly look.

Butters made four trips, setting the packs of twenty-four next to each other on the table. He tapped one of the boxes of beers. “Ninety-six ain’t enough for a party,” he said.

Clyde exclaimed, “How did you get ninety-six?”

Butters blinked. “Twenty-four beers in four packs each,” he answered simply. “Twenty-four times four.”

Clyde said, “You can do that in your head _ that _fast?”

Bebe giggled and playfully smacked the back of Clyde’s head. “How did you pass elementary school?” she joked.

“Well it’s not my fault I’m not in AP Calculus like Butters,” Clyde whined.

Bebe giggled, _ “What?” _

Clyde grinned. “Nah, I’m just playing with you.”

They shared moony smiles that Clyde sealed with a kiss to Bebe’s red lips. Bebe cuddled up to Clyde’s chest as she said, “Are you boys gonna be okay setting up while I get into my costume?”

Clyde nodded, tucking a lock of curly blonde hair behind her ear and kissing her left cheek. “We’re gonna be fine, cool beans,” he assured. “Don’t worry about us.”

Bebe disappeared upstairs. Clyde ripped open a pack of beers and set them out on the counter. The kitchen was quiet as Butters and Eric watched him carefully.

“So when’s the wedding?” Eric taunted.

What he was expecting from Clyde was a flustered reply that he wasn’t engaged to Bebe yet. Instead, Eric got a very serious reply, “Last day of May.”

Butters and Eric’s jaws dropped at the same time. “When did the proposal happen?” Eric questioned. He unsure if Clyde was joking or not.

Clyde nonchalantly continued taking out the beers. He shrugged and made an _ I don’t know _sound. 

Eric blurted, “Wait. But you’re not actually engaged, right?”

Clyde laughed and shook his head. “No, dumbass. We’re not engaged.”

“But you’re gonna marry her, aren’t you?” Butters said.

“Yeah, obviously,” said Clyde. “You _ really _think I’m gonna let go of her that easy? She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“How the _ fuck _do you already having a wedding date planned if you’re not even engaged?” Eric demanded.

Clyde said, “We already know what we’re gonna name our kids, and how many kids we’re gonna have for that matter. We know we want a two story house in the suburbs close to home but not too close that our kids will have to suffer the South Park craziness. We know which _ preschool _our kids will go to. Why wouldn’t we have a date for our wedding?”

Eric scoffed a laugh. Clyde was right. It wasn’t as strange as it sounded for him and Bebe to have their wedding date already set. They had their whole future planned long before they started dating mid-May of junior year.

Clyde continued, “Once Bebe’s finished with med school—or close to it, I guess—we’re gonna make all that happen.”

When Bebe walked downstairs, the boys were finished laying the food and drinks out in the kitchen. They were sitting in the living room, watching TV. Bebe dramatically swooned into Clyde’s lap. She was wearing a gold flapper dress and black knee-high boots. She had a blue thirteen on the back of her left hand. She kept her red lipstick and her hair down.

“When are you guys gonna get changed?” she asked.

“After homework,” Butters replied instantly. He shot Eric a pointed look.

Eric groaned loudly. “I hate how teachers give us homework on Halloween,” he complained.

Butters patted his cheek. “Me too, buddy. Let’s just get it over with.”

He pulled Eric off the couch by his hand and led him upstairs. Eric grabbed their backpacks along the way, grumbling under his breath about being called “buddy.”

At eight, Eric’s friend group was the first to show. There were only about twenty people scattered around the house. The music was at a low, respectable murmur, and the conversation was too. Everybody was sipping from water bottles. The lights in the house were still on.

By eleven, the music made the whole house shake, floods of people were shouting over it to hear each other speak, empty plastic cups were knocked over on any available surface, and colored lights flashed throughout the dark living room.

Eric sat pressed up to Butters on the couch in the living room. They shared a look of disgust as they watched the cluster teenagers crowding up the space in front of the TV. Some were grinding on each other. Some were licking each other’s tongues. Two guys were shooting streams of beer through their teeth into each other’s mouths. Eric didn’t recognize anyone because of the costumes and dim lighting.

The rest of Eric’s friends were also in the living room, though they were less focused on what was going on in the middle. Out of everyone in the house, Eric and his friends were probably the most well behaved—if Heidi sitting in Kyle’s lap with his hand inching up her skirt, Nichole and Token sat up and sleeping against each other, Jimmy and Clyde making a chaotic video, Tweek and Craig reading Red Racer lore, Stan drunkenly bobbing to the music while Wendy was reading the textbook in her lap, Kenny and Henrietta heatedly making out next to Butters, and if Bebe trying to show Annie how to put her hair in a bun—could be considered well behaved.

Neither Eric nor Butters had had a drop of alcohol, and perhaps that was why the two seemed to be the only ones in the whole house who still had their dignity and sanity intact.

“This is amusingly repulsive,” Eric said in Butters’ ear.

As people had started trickling into the house, Butters would speak fewer and fewer words. Once the party was in full swing, Butters had gone completely mute. This was no exception, and Butters only nodded in agreement.

Butters’ face was covered in white face paint. Black was around his eyes, on his nose, and in lines over and at the corners of his lips. He was wearing the only pair of black jeans he owned and one of Eric’s black hoodies. For Halloween, he was a skull, and at the moment, a particularly sad skull.

Butters was still moping about not going trick-or-treating. Seeing how disappointed it made him brought guilt to Eric. He hated seeing his baby upset.

He paused.

He’d just called Butters his baby. Sure he’d _ thought _ it, but if he was thinking it, that meant there was a chance he’d slip up and say it aloud. Eric called Butters B-Butts, and that in itself was cheesy enough. Eric didn’t need to start calling him _ baby. _

Eric shoved the thought away and slung his arm around Butters’ shoulders. Eric’s mask was on the top of his head, so nothing blocked the connection between his and Butters’ lips. The kiss didn’t last long. Butters had already redone the makeup around his mouth twice due to Eric’s aggressive kissing, and Butters had made it clear he wasn’t doing it a third time. Eric still had smudges of black and white around his lips that he didn’t bother wiping off.

Eric put his mouth to Butters’ ear so he could hear him when he said, “Why don’t we grab spare pillow cases and hit the streets?”

Butters’ eyes grew wide in realization. They were more than blue in the multicolored lights. “Are you serious?” he said.

The corner of Eric’s mouth lifted. “What do you say? Wanna ditch for some free candy?” He held out his hand to prompt his question.

After a split second of delay, Butters took it. They shared a mischievous grin.

They started in Eric’s neighborhood first, going down and across the street, trying to obtain as much candy as they could. Eric could feel the warmth of his breath against his mask covering his face.

After they completed Eric’s neighborhood, walked to a different street. They were both quietly snacking on a few candies since trick-or-treating worked up an appetite. Butters stuck his free hand in the pocket of Eric’s red hoodie even though he had a pocket of his own.

Eric said, “Holy fuck, why did I want to choose some shitty party over this?” He finished the last of the Snickers he was eating to slip his hand in his pocket and lace his fingers up with Butters’.

Butters laughed, bumping his shoulder against Eric’s. “Told ya.”

Eric rolled his eyes at Butters before kissing him.

An hour past midnight, their sacks were heavy enough that they could have been carrying dismembered body parts in their pillow cases. They were approaching the last leg of their trick-or-treat route: They had finally made it to the rich neighborhood.

Like a horde of wandering zombies, trick-or-treaters of all ages roamed the streets. Eric pulled his mask over his face as they came up to the first decorated house on the street.

In the dark of the crescent moon night, the boys didn’t notice the certain shade of blue the house was painted as they walked up the door. Butters rang the bell.

After a second, there was the sound of movement from within. Locks were turned, and the door started to open at an identical pace of doors opening in horror movies.

“Trick or treat!” Butters and Eric said simultaneously.

The door opened fully, and as soon as Eric recognized the man holding the crystalline bowl of king-sized bars of candy, his face behind his mask morphed into a scowl. This was the house of the Garden of Betrayal, and they stood before the man who owned it.

He looked Butters and Eric up and down. He sneered. “More of you? How many teenagers do I have to tell? Trick-or-treating is for _ children. _ You should have stopped this bullshit by the time you were twelve.” He scoffed. “And I’ve seen better costumes. Half-assed, low-effort costumes like _ yours _ don’t deserve candy, greedy teenagers or not. A crappy mask and shitty makeup. Disappointing.” He _ tsk_ed before slamming the door in their faces.

Butters’ mouth was agape as he stood, frozen, staring at the closed door.

A cauldron of rage boiled up in Eric’s chest. The old man had done Eric dirty plenty times before, and this brought back his ancient grudge. He snatched up Butters’ hand. “C’mon,” he said gruffly. A plan of revenge was already formulating in his mind.

In a trance, Butters followed limply. “What’re you gonna do?” he asked. His voice sounded far away from shock.

Eric’s mouth split into a devious smile. “Remember how last year I wanted to TP his house for telling us we’re too old for trick-or-treating? Well, Kyle and Stan aren’t here to hold me back this time.”

“You’re gonna TP his house?” Butters whispered.

“Yep,” Eric growled. Blood red edged his vision. He hadn’t felt this angry since last Halloween, but this made him angrier. That old man had insulted Butters, and _ no one _could insult Butters except for Eric, and when Eric did it, it was harmless teasing that preceded foreplay.

Butters’ voice was louder and his words were more enunciated. “Can I egg his house while you TP it?” he asked.

Eric glanced at Butters. Pride and vengeance swirled within him as a sinister smirk spread across his face. “You can do whatever you want, B-Butts. You can light the damn place on fire for all I care.”

Butters looked good mirroring the smirk he couldn’t see behind Eric’s mask.

Back at Eric’s house, the two split up. Eric took their sacks of candy and tossed them into his room. He went into the bathroom to find the extra rolls of toilet paper under the sink. Butters was down in the kitchen, taking the carton of eggs from the fridge. They met up in the hallway upstairs. Eric stuffed the rolls of toilet paper into a plastic shopping bag, and Butters did the same for his eggs. Eric caught a glimpse of the label of Butters’ red spray paint as he pushed it into the bag with the eggs.

Eric grinned to himself.

When they stood, they traded a look of determination. They went back downstairs. Eric held open the door for Butters. As Butters went through, Eric heard Clyde shout over the music, asking where he and Butters were going. Eric still had his mask on, but his eyes were in clear view. He fixated his stepbrother with a dark look before stalking after Butters.

Trick-or-treaters stepped out of their path as the two went down the sidewalk. Though their costumes weren’t scary—half-assed and low-effort, according to the old man—the trick-or-treaters were intimidated by the dangerous, ghastly looks in their eyes. It was haunting how in sync Eric and Butters were when they pulled their hoods over their heads.

At the house of the Garden of Betrayal, Eric and Butters stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the windows. They were crossed and concealed with fake spiderwebs. All lights were off. The old man had gone to bed.

Silently, Eric pulled out his first roll of toilet paper. Butters rolled a cold egg in his hand. They began their work. Egg after egg cracked against the walls and oozed down windows like transparent blood. Toilet paper tangled in branches of bushes and tumbled over the roof of the house. Hanging ends fluttered in the wind like phantoms.

When Eric was out of toilet paper, he took over for Butters with the eggs. Butters uncapped his spray can to outline a large red dick on the side of the house.

Eric had to hold back laughter upon seeing it. He’d never seen Butters paint something so obscene. It touched his cruel heart to know he’d ruined Butters in this way.

That’s when the porch light flickered on. The boys froze. If they were still, perhaps they wouldn’t be noticed. The man threw open his door and muttered, “What the hell—?” He saw the condition of his house. He saw the raw eggs. He saw the mess of toilet paper. And how furious he would be when he saw the dick with “Happy Halloween” sprayed above it in leaking letters.

Eric watched a monster of anger and fright cross his face. _ Good, _ he thought. _ Now he knows what it’s like. _

The old man finally noticed Butters and Eric. His eyes widened, but his face turned pale as a ghost. “You!” he shouted, pointing a shaking finger at the two of them. “I’m calling the police!” He ducked inside to find a phone.

Butters and Eric looked at each other and seemed to share an identical telepathic thought: _ Run. _

They deserted the eggs, the plastic bags, the toilet rolls, the spray paint, and the lawn of horrific house to take off sprinting down the street.

Their shoes slammed on the concrete as they ran. Eric ripped his mask off his face and tossed it over his shoulder.

Butters looked back at the mask skidding to a stop on the sidewalk. It was getting further and further away. He glanced frantically at Eric. “What—?” he started.

Eric swiped a rough thumb at the corner of Butters’ lips. He quickly explained, “Get your makeup off. Take off the hoodie. He doesn’t know our identities, but he’s going to describe our costumes to the cops. They can’t track us if we don’t have them on.” He lifted his hoodie over his head and dropped it on the sidewalk. He hardly registered the cold. The sweat breaking out on his skin from running so fast concealed the autumn air.

“But that’s your hoodie,” Butters protested. He gasped a breath to add, “And this is also your hoodie.” He pointed to the black hoodie he wore.

Eric gave his head a curt shake. He grabbed the hem of the hoodie, prompting Butters to get rid of it. “I don’t care. I’d rather us not get arrested. Take it off.”

Butters did as told and abandoned the hoodie. He scrubbed the makeup from his face until it was only a smudge of black and white.

They didn’t stop running until they were safe inside the party at Eric’s. Even then, they stormed up the stairs. Eric fumbled with the doorknob to his bedroom as he shared his laughter with Butters. They were out of breath, and they were hysterical from the rush of adrenaline.

They were in the room and the door was closed. Butters fell to the bed with Eric on top of him. Along with adrenaline, lust overtook them both. There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation as they furiously made out like starved beasts. They were panting into each other’s mouths, and they could hear their rapid heartbeats over the pulse of music.

Eric pushed Butters further up the bed with his hips. Butters made a sound that was between a laugh and a moan. Eric’s tongue was in Butters’ mouth as Butters had his hands pulling at Eric’s hair. Around the kiss, Butters breathed, “No sex, remember?”

Eric hissed through his teeth, “Trust me, B-Butts, I remember.” He slid his cold fingers up Butters’ shirt. He felt Butters suppress a shiver. He huskily whispered, “And it’s killing me.”

Butters slammed his mouth to Eric’s. The movement of their lips set Eric’s skin ablaze. Butters’ tongue was hot and slick against his.

Outside the house, the blaring of police cars steadily approached. At ease, they made out to the rhythm of the sirens echoing down Eric’s street as the cops inside their cars searched for Jason Voorhees and his skull companion.


End file.
